


damn, honey, you've got me falling (literally. out of the sky. it hurt.)

by intergaylactic



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Fluff, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Light Angst, M/M, also hunk and shiro just want them to be okay, and so is keith !!!!, he's doing his best, i will die by the blade for hufflepuff keith, i'm glad that's an established tag already lmao, pls read this it took me a year and a half to finally finish it, they're both just Trying and that's valid, validate my efforts i'm begging you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 21:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17947334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergaylactic/pseuds/intergaylactic
Summary: lance mcclain, newly-minted gryffindor seeker, finds himself in the delightful position of losing the championship match for his entire team, and taking a mouthful of dirt in the process. keith kogane has been a star seeker for hufflepuff since second year, effortlessly brilliant. their fifth year's quidditch season arrives with the potential for redemption and vengeful victory - entirely unbeknownst to keith, it seems.“Well, I mean -” Lance said, a dark flush creeping up his cheeks, as he locked eyes with Keith from across the common room, “Keith Kogane isn’t ‘most people’, is he?”





	damn, honey, you've got me falling (literally. out of the sky. it hurt.)

**Author's Note:**

> if you got the mbmbam reference in the title, i will give you a dollar out of my pocket
> 
> come and validate me @miraiculous on tumblr

Lance knew what he was doing.

 

The wind blasted through his hair as he zipped around the field, his broom - an old but reliable comet two seventy that he’d had since first year - humming beneath him like a living being. Lance was headed straight for the tiny golden blur that was flying towards the grass below and, as he spared a glance away from the prize, he saw a set of yellow robes zoom in the same direction ahead of him.

 

Keith was incredible, as usual. He was fast, even on something as utilitarian as a cleansweep, and Lance wondered if maybe that was just Keith’s own personal magic: that the broom could go that fast because of who was riding it, his energy pushing it past its designed limitations, into unknown territory. That’s certainly what he did to Lance, when they were neck-and-neck on the pitch like this: Lance was pushed farther than he ever thought school games could take him. Seeing Keith Kogane and his effortless spins and dives and victories made him want to do better, become a new, superior version of himself. He would mould himself again and again and again, as he had done for years, to be as good as he needed to be to finally win.

 

But Keith was faster now, and his dark hair was a shadow against the gray December air as he curved smoothly into a dive towards the ground, where the snitch had grown frantic in its attempts to be rid of the Hufflepuff seeker.

 

Lance jerked into a dive himself, needing to close the gap between them. He couldn’t let this slip away from him; this match was their last shot at the Cup - he couldn’t face Allura if he lost this for them all. His entire damn house was depending on him.

 

“Come on!” Lance flew, and the distance between him and Keith was shrinking now: fifty feet, forty, thirty - _he would not lose this_ -

 

And then Keith was pulling out of his dive, his hand clenched, and Lance felt his heart stutter. Keith was hovering there, breaths heavy and smoky as he held up his fist, and a single gleaming wing winked at Lance from between his fingers.

 

Then his split second of pure, raw loss was over, and he snapped his head back just in time to see the grass barrelling straight for him. Lance tried to pull out of his dive - _not as smooth as Keith’s_ \- but he was out of time and was rolling across the field, his shoulder burning from the impact.

 

Lance flopped onto his back, his broom tangled in his long legs, and looked up. Keith was a much smaller figure from so far down, and Lance was glad he couldn’t make out the snitch in his hand or the smile on his face from that distance. The world was swirling, and he was going to be sick -

 

Until his eyes shot open. Lance was thrown back into reality so abruptly that it left him disoriented, heart racing in his chest.

 

Blinking away the remains of sleep, Lance’s gaze rested on the red curtains draped around his four-poster, their pigment distorted by the faded early morning light. He knew it was likely too early to justify getting out of bed, but the racing of his heart had left him wide awake. Sleep was out of the question now, with the vicious thoughts circling his brain like vultures.

 

Once he had securely wrapped a timeworn blanket around his shoulders - if he tried hard enough, he could almost imagine it still smelled like his room back home - Lance reached into the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out a thick envelope, settling it carefully in the lap of his crossed legs. His fingertips traced the slight ridges of the flower and farm animal stickers that covered it, the gritty patches of glitter glue. Flipping it open with a soft smile, he picked out one of several folded letters, smoothing it open.

 

Lance read through familiar words of comfort, his gaze running along the swooping cursive of his older sister’s handwriting. The early morning sunlight brightened the longer he read.

 

✦

 

“-okay, wait wait wait!” 

 

“What?” Lance sighed, chin in hand as he waited for his best friend’s answer. 

 

On the opposite side of the Gryffindor table, Hunk was staring at Lance in abject horror. “You haven’t been freaking out about that match  _ since last year _ , right?!”

 

“No?”

 

“Oh thank god.” His whole body seemed to relax, tension dissolving from his posture as he resumed measuring out a precise spoonful of honey to stir into his tea. “I thought I had missed it completely, dude. Like sure for the first month I knew you weren’t happy about it, but after that I thought it was alright. How can I be your best friend if I miss something like that?”

 

“Um . . .”

 

“I can’t.” Hunk said it as matter-of-factly as if he were explaining yesterday’s arithmancy lesson. “It would be entirely unacceptable.”

 

“Good to know you take the job so seriously,” Lance said, stifling a laugh. 

 

“I do, man, I really do. Anyway, you were saying?”

 

“Yeah. Uh, so no, I haven’t been freaking out since it happened, technically. I was distracted with stuff, you know? But now . . .”

 

“The quidditch season’s starting up again.” Hunk was frowning as he looked at him, and Lance turned his eyes down to his half-finished toast; at least the jam wouldn’t look as sympathetic as his friend.

 

“Yeah, that.” 

 

Thinking about the last match tightened the now-familiar knot in his stomach; imagining the fall, his back hitting the ground, the air rushing from his lungs, the disappointment etched into his teammates’ faces.

 

“Dude.” Lance glanced back up at Hunk, whose frown had deepened in the moment of tense silence. “I’m gonna say something, and I need you to listen to me, alright? This is important.” Lance just nodded, focusing as much as he was on crushing down the rising storm in his chest. 

“Okay, so for starters, Allura spent the entire night after the game plotting Shiro’s demise and decidedly  _ not  _ blaming you, so there’s that.” Lance huffed out a laugh after another deep, calming breath as he remembered Allura in the Gryffindor common room that night, pouring over strategies and diagram-heavy sheets of parchment. Shay had sat with her for a while, bringing over tea and snacks from the sympathy basket Hunk had brought them from the kitchens. Their captain had been furious over Hufflepuff’s win, although she had also grudgingly admitted that Shiro -

 

“- ‘runs a pretty good team’,” Hunk quoted with a laugh. “I guess that would suck - I mean, the two of them have always been a bit on the competitive side when it comes to quidditch, and she’d talked your team up so much last year.”

 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Lance said. “That was the worst part - everyone thought we were some spectacular dream team, and we lose fifty to two hundred!” His cheeks burned at the memory; it had been the biggest defeat of the year. 

 

“Yeah, but this brings me to my second point: it’s kind of nice that you guys did so bad last year, isn’t it?”

 

“How the hell is the  _ worst defeat of the century _ supposed to be a good thing?!” 

 

“Okay, it wasn’t the ‘worst defeat of the century’, drama queen. It wasn’t even the worst defeat of the decade. And, since you guys did so badly last year, any results this year - which will obviously be better because of all the extra practice and strategies Allura’s been planning since last year - will seem miles better in comparison. Classic example of the Haggar Principle: once you’ve gone through Haggar’s Potions class, every terrible class will feel like it could be worse.” 

 

Lance snorted, washing down the last of his toast with a sip of coffee. 

 

“I guess you have a point . . .” Lance said, eyes sweeping the Great Hall until they fell upon a small, yellow-and-black clad figure two tables away. Hunk followed his gaze to the Hufflepuff table and Lance heard him mumble a pleading “oh god no . . .” as he saw where Lance was looking. “But being ‘not that bad’ isn’t really the goal here, is it?”

 

“Lance, please tell me this is going to be a reasonable -”

 

“I want to beat Keith. I want to absolutely  _ crush him _ .”

 

“. . . and I spoke too soon.” Hunk sighed, taking a long sip of his tea and pointedly not looking at the Hufflepuff seeker, who was flipping innocently through a textbook with one hand and pouring pumpkin juice with the other, completely unaware of the vengeful glare Lance was sending his way.

 

“Look at him, all ambidextrous and talented,” Lance said, rolling his eyes and turning back to Hunk. “I’m gonna beat him this year, Hunk, and it’s gonna be  _ spectacular _ !” 

 

“Oh crap.” 

 

“That’s what Keith’s gonna be saying when I kick his ass in a few months,” Lance replied, draining the last of his coffee. “I think it’s time Allura let me in on some of those strategies.” 

 

“Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid, alright?”

 

“Define ‘stupid’.”

 

Hunk put his face in his hands, already exhausted with this quidditch season. “Oh, this is not gonna end well.”

 

✦

 

Gryffindor quidditch practices, at the very least, were going incredibly well. 

“Lance! That was fantastic!” Shay was beaming, hovering just above Lance, beater’s bat hanging loose in her grip as she leaned over her broom. 

“Shay’s right, that dive was excellent,” Allura said, and hearing the compliment from her made Lance’s heart swell. “You’ve been practicing on your own, haven’t you?”

He nodded, tossing his captain a coy half-smile as he righted his broom once again. “Just for you, captain - all summer.” 

Allura rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. “You are better, I would just say maybe . . . oh,  _ damn it _ .” Lance and Shay followed Allura’s shifted gaze over to the other end of the pitch, they saw that the other chasers had started playing another round of chicken on broomsticks, barrelling at each other at top speed, their laughs sparking in the crisp September air like electricity. “That’s what I get for picking a couple of second-years, I guess.” Allura sighed and zipped towards them with a shout of, “How’re we going to win if you two get yourselves killed before the season even starts?!” 

The rest of practice went by in a blur of speed and strategies and laughter echoing off the empty quidditch pitch stands. As the team stumbled to the grass, legs wobbly after four hours of near-constant flying, they discovered a surprise waiting for them outside the showers: despite Allura’s ban on other teams sitting in on their early-season practices, there had been a few last-minute visitors hoping to catch the team after they had stopped flying. 

“Here to steal our strategies, hm? I thought I banned you from visiting.” Allura strode towards the showers with her broom slung over one shoulder, where a tall, grinning Hufflepuff was leaning up against the wall. 

“We would never even think of it,” Shiro shot back, pushing off the wall and walking over to Allura. “Besides, we only came for the very end - barely saw anything.”

“Good to know.” She turned back to the rest of her team; Lance could see how hard she was fighting to keep her serious expression. Her and Shiro’s joking rivalry had returned in full-force this season, it seemed. 

“Everyone, Shiro mentioned he might be coming by to make peace after last year’s . . . match.” The word ‘defeat’ was painted across Allura’s expression; Lance was grateful she hadn’t said it aloud. “This year we’re all going to do our best -” she glanced over at Shiro, who nodded his agreement, “-and this time Gryffindor’s going to destroy them. So . . . that’s that.”

“‘Make peace’ you said.” 

Allura shrugged, unable to keep the wicked grin off her face. “Just letting you know ahead of time, so you can prepare yourself for our inevitable victory.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know about your summer of strategizing,” Shiro said. “So much for  _ friendly  _ competition,  _ Altea _ ?” 

“There’s nothing not friendly about a crushing defeat of an old rival,  _ Shirogane _ .” 

“Of course.”

Allura glanced back over at her team and gave them all a reassuring smile, gesturing to the showers. “I’ll catch up with you all later, alright?” The chasers and keeper nodded and said their goodbyes as they walked inside. Cosmo followed soon after, running after the second-years and shouting about future victory for Gryffindor. 

“Those damn youth,” Shiro said, watching their energetic retreat. “We’re only a month into seventh year, and pre-NEWTS stress is already getting to me.” 

“Ugh, I know,” Allura said. “Anyway, Lance, you’ve gotten -”

“Dude, that was awesome!” Lance grinned as Hunk came hurrying down the stairs from the stands, oblivious to Allura’s attempted praise. “You dropped, and it was so  _ fast _ , and then you were all ‘ _ whooosh’  _ and you were going up again and then you were like  _ ‘swooosh’  _ and then your spin was like  _ ‘swooooop’  _ and it was amazing!” 

“Not exactly how I would have phrased it, and I’m not too sure how he knows this given that we decided  _ no one outside the team was to see our practices  _ -” Lance gave a sheepish smile of apology, and his captain sighed, “- but he’s right. Your diving’s gotten significantly better, Lance.” 

“That’s not nothing,” Shiro chimed in. “Allura doesn’t dish out praise for no reason. I’d love to see you guys fly, if  _ someone  _ wasn’t so secretive about her strategies.” He let out a bark of laughter as Allura shoved him in the ribs. 

“Oh, right, because you’re not secretive about yours,” she quipped back. “I just wanted the first practice to be just our team - give everyone a chance to get back into the swing of things before putting them in front of an audience.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I backseat captain sometimes -”

“ _ Sometimes _ ?”

“- but eventually you’ll have to let me see your ‘ _ unbelievably talented players _ ’. Especially with how much Lance has apparently improved. Which is great, by the way,” Shiro added, turning his gaze back to Lance. “A good seeker can make or break a team. I’m glad you’re back in action there.”

Lance could feel his cheeks heating up a bit, but he crushed that embarrassment down flat and gave Shiro his best confident grin. “Yeah, I mean, it took some time, but my quidditch mojo is finally working again, you know? The Snitch-Catching Machine is back and better than ever!”

“Well, be sure to prove that to us next match, alright?” Shiro glanced over his shoulder, just past the wall of the showers, a knowing grin slipping across his face. “Someone’s in desperate need for some decent competition this season.”

Lance followed Shiro’s gaze and watched as a familiar figure walked out from behind the wall, settling into a casual lean against the one closest to their group. He felt the air in his throat sharpen a little, his heart giving a particularly strong thud against the inside of his ribcage. 

“It’d be nice,” Keith said with a shrug, so offhanded it almost hurt. 

“Don’t try that badass indifference stuff with me.” Shiro laughed, reaching out to ruffle Keith’s hair; Keith ducked out of the way just in time, rolling his eyes, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement. “You were talking about wanting a real match soon - so what d’you think? Can the Snitch-Catching Machine bring it or what?” 

Genuinely contemplative eyes swept over his face and Lance swore he saw something flash across them before Keith offered his brother another shrug. “Yeah, maybe.”

Lance’s cheeks had gone pink from the nickname, and heated up even more under Keith’s sudden stare and grudging admission. Willing himself to stay calm, Lance looked his newfound rival with as steady a gaze as he could manage. He would not lash out in front of Shiro, a quidditch icon at Hogwarts and a good friend-by-proxy through Allura, he told himself. He would not embarrass himself in front of his competition. He would react with tact and wit and maturity.  

“Maybe  _ I’ll _ kick  _ your _ ass this season.” Beside him, Hunk let out a quiet sigh.

Keith raised a single sharp eyebrow at Lance, frowning. “Alright? Good luck with that.”

“I think you’ll be needing good luck a bit more than us, actually.” Lance was pointedly not catching Allura’s eye, as she glared him down from her position next to Shiro, who was glancing back and forth between Lance and Keith, looking as though he had unleashed something unexpectedly nasty.

His eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, Keith took a step forward, arms crossed rigidly over his chest. “You sure about that? Because the last time I checked, our team was doing just fine - especially against yours.” 

“Yeah?” Lance took a step forward, too, so the two of them were barely two feet apart - he could reach out and touch Keith’s gloved hand, could see the tight, angry set of his mouth. “Things change, Keith! You’re not the only one who can do stupid, fancy dives anymore -”

“But apparently I’m the only one who can pull out of them.”

“Okay!” Shiro said, clapping a hand on Keith’s shoulder and laughing, though his smile seemed strained. “I think we should probably get going now!”

“Yes!” Allura exclaimed, appearing at Lance’s side, Hunk zipping over to stand at his other side. “We should go as well! Immediately!”

“It was great seeing your team!” 

“And your seeker!”

“It really wasn’t that great- ow!” Lance winced, Allura’s foot stamped firmly over his, and she was wearing a smile that did not match the burning anger in her blue eyes. 

“It really was, and we really should get changed!” And, with both of his captain’s hands clamped around his shoulders, Lance was steered into the showers, the door closing swiftly to block his view of Keith’s irritated face. 

“Why did we run off?!” he demanded, shrugging off her grip. “I was in the middle of something there! I can’t just leave when I’m declaring a rivalry!”

Hunk and Allura simply looked at Lance, and then at each other and let out identical, long-suffering sighs. 

 

✦

 

“Keith.”

“What?”

“Keith, slow down.” 

He did, albeit not by much; his brother still had to jog to catch up. When Shiro did manage to fall into step beside him, Keith kept his eyes trained on the grass beneath their feet, knowing what was coming and not wanting to deal with the inevitable lecture. 

“What was that back there? Do you two know each other or something?”

“No,” Keith muttered. “I’ve barely even seen him play, other than last year’s match.”

“Then why was he suddenly so . . . you know . . .”

“Annoying?”

“I was gonna say confrontational.” Shiro frowned. Keith still wasn’t meeting his eyes as they marched back up to the castle; the fading sunlight cast his face in harsh shadows, accentuating the angry set of his jaw.  

Shiro waited for Keith to respond, but the younger boy continued to glower in silence. 

“He was the Gryffindor seeker last year,” Shiro prompted, hoping to jog Keith’s memory. “First year doing it. Allura said he showed up to every tryout before that, but didn’t quite make the cut with their old captain.” Keith nodded once, but said nothing. “He, uh - he was the seeker in the final match last year. Maybe you guys talked at that game?”

Keith shrugged, staring straight ahead.  

“Look, I know he was rude,” Shiro began, ignoring the immediate scoff from Keith. “And if you’re sure you don’t know him . . .”

“I  _ don’t _ ,” Keith huffed, finally looking up to glare at his brother. 

“Okay, cool, cool . . . so since you don’t know him, it probably isn’t the greatest first impression you could have of him. But Lance is a good guy - I’m serious!” Keith had actually slowed down enough to give his brother the most reproachful look he could muster up amid the frustration swirling in his chest. 

“He’s usually not that, well,  _ rude _ . Confrontational? Sure. But he’s really not usually like that, I swear. I dropped by enough of their practices last year to see that for myself.”

Keith was still watching him as though he had just made a case for Haggar’s moral integrity, but some of the tenseness had slipped off of his shoulders. “A good guy?” he repeated, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Shiro said. “So just, I don’t know . . . don’t let this be what you think of him, alright?”

Stepping inside, Keith’s whole face was illuminated by the sudden rush of candlelight, his eyes brimming with thought. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

“You know what?” Keith glanced over at Shiro, whose face had taken on a thoughtful expression that Keith didn’t like the look of at all. 

“What?” He didn’t think he wanted to hear the answer. 

“Let me talk to Allura about it  . . . I think maybe we might be able to get you in to see one of their practices.”

Keith rolled his eyes, stomping his way towards the Hufflepuff dorms. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Just trust me, okay? You won’t regret it, I swear.” From just behind him, Shiro’s voice was tinged with sincerity. Keith, while not slowing down his pace, allowed himself a pause to consider his brother’s request. He bit back a sigh; he had always found decisive no’s difficult when it came to Shiro. Against all his stubborn judgement, Keith knew he could trust him. He scowled, knowing his only real option, already beginning to dread it.  

“. . . fine. Whatever.” It wasn’t as if Lance Mcclain could become less of an asshole overnight, right?

 

✦

 

They were an hour and twelve minutes into practice, and Lance was moving as if . . . as if . . .

“. . . he was born for it.” 

Keith said this quietly, the words slipping through his lips in a breath that he hoped might get lost in the autumn winds. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but watching the Gryffindor boy fly seemed to be distracting him from maintaining the silence he’d been subjecting Shiro to since he had led him to the pitch. 

“I know what you mean,” Shiro said, barely louder than Keith had been. 

Keith felt his cheeks heat up at acknowledgement of his thought, but was glad Shiro had left it there. He needed time to think, to process what he was seeing, because after an hour and twelve minutes tucked away in the stands - where Shiro had sworn they wouldn’t be spotted - he was struck by the fact that he had actual competition zipping around the pitch before him. Lance Mechoso was flying like someone who was meant to learn the art, with the kind of skill that he had clearly spent countless hours working at. 

He moved like a bird, tumbling through the air after so many attempts to fly, spreading the wings he had been born with but had only just mastered. That kind of passion, clear in his ecstatic whoops and reckless spins, was absolutely captivating. 

“He’s - he’s just finally been practicing,” Keith said after a long few minutes of quiet, still unable to take his eyes off Lance’s soaring figure. He cleared his throat and, with a quick shake of his head, pulled himself out of his daze. He turned to see Shiro already looking at him with an odd half-smile dancing around his mouth, and narrowed his eyes. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothin’,” Shiro said airily, the half-smile spreading into a broad grin. “Nothing at all.” 

 

✦

 

Gryffindor v. Slytherin - DON’T FUCK IT UP

The words Lance had scribbled into his own calendar in late September were now burning into his retinas, clutching at his vision as he knelt on his mattress. The paper tacked on the wall above his headboard had felt like a good idea at the time, but now it only left that gnawing, messy feeling in his chest that he had grown so familiar with over the past two months. 

“You’ve got this,” Hunk said from somewhere to his right, and the presence of his best friend’s hand on his arm settled his stomach at least marginally. Allura must’ve let him into the dormitory again.

He turned to face Hunk, whose eyebrows were knit together in concern. The beginnings of a smile inched their way onto Lance’s face, and he forced a few breaths in and out of his lungs, willing them to function for just a few hours. 

“I’ve got this,” Lance echoed. “I’ve got this.” 

Breakfast was a blur of well-wishing Gryffindors and jeers from Slytherins, some playful and some less so. Pidge appeared at one point with a firm reminder that her team was going to kick ass, and a quieter reminder that Lance was also going to kick ass. Half a piece of toast and a quietly sipped mug of coffee later, and Lance was making his way out of the Great Hall among a small unit of scarlet-clad students.

As they neared the doors, Lance gripping his comet two seventy like a lifeline, he met a pair of familiar dark blue eyes. His chest tightened at the sight of Keith Kogane, arms crossed and back pressed to the wall, his intent gaze sweeping the hallway. When it came to rest on Lance, the Gryffindor tried unsuccessfully to fight down the rising flush in his face, uncomfortable under the sudden scrutiny that always seemed to come with Keith’s presence.  

Shiro was standing next to his brother and broke away from the wall to approach Allura, who was leading the group; Keith followed quickly after him. Allura didn’t slow down for either of them, marching across the marble floors at the head of her team, but Shiro just grinned and slipped into the brisk pace she had set right next to her, entirely unfazed. Keith, much to Lance’s dismay, fell into step just behind his brother, barely three feet to his right. He could practically feel the glances Keith was giving him every few seconds, and felt his grip on his broom tighten.

“Morning, Allura.”

“Morning,” Allura said, tossing Shiro a tight, no-nonsense smile. “Beautiful weather.”

“Great flying conditions,” he agreed, still grinning broadly, and looked over his shoulder at his brother. “Right?”

Keith, hands now buried in his pockets, gave a small nod. “Yeah.” He was pointedly not looking at Lance when he added, “Visibility should be good, for, you know - distance. And stuff.” 

As Shiro and Allura led the team through the double doors and out into the courtyard, Lance’s gaze shot directly to the sky. It was a clear, robin’s egg blue, and he felt a single worry quiet down in his head, the knot in his chest loosening just a fraction of a centimeter. Keith was looking at him again, silent and unreadable, when Lance brought his sight back down to earth. 

“You know, Slytherin’s run through hardly half the strategies you guys have,” Shiro remarked.

“So I’ve heard,” Allura replied coolly, the beginnings of a genuine smirk tugging on her lips. “Lotor seems more than a little annoyed by their captain’s lack of concern.”

“As he should be.” They were marching down the sloping, grassy lawns towards the pitch now, and Lance looked back up into the miles of blue whenever he felt his stomach flip. 

“Your team is a force to be reckoned with,” Shiro said, louder this time, glancing over his shoulder at the rest of the Gryffindors. Shay offered him a kind smile and the second-years beamed at the praise. Lance held his breath and focused on not throwing up. 

Allura threw open the change room door, turning to fully face Shiro; she was radiant with determination, sunlight sparking off her steely eyes. 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said. “Don’t forget, it’s -”

“- one practice session on the Firebolt if you win, yeah.” Shiro winked at Lance over Allura’s shoulder, still smiling. “I’ll see you at the victory party.” 

“Alright everyone, in you get - no, Cosmo, that’s going to break your broom - oh, would you please be sensible for five minutes -” Allura began shepherding the Gryffindors into the showers, and Lance had moved to step inside when he felt a soft tap on his arm.

He looked over his shoulder to see Keith standing there, hand still raised and expression still as undecipherable and intimidating as ever. 

“You, uh -” Keith stopped himself, but a small nudge in the back from Shiro made him sigh. He looked Lance dead in the eye and said, “You sort of wait too long when you’re turning - I mean, with directing the broom, so, uh, if you just start directing it gradually when you start turning, you know, at the same time - it should - it should help. With that. You’ll turn better.” 

For a moment, Lance was so baffled that his anxiety was momentarily pushed to the back burner of his brain while he tried to process Keith’s . . .  _ advice?  _ Was Keith Kogane giving him flying tips? 

“I don’t . . . I know how t- how to turn.” The words felt odd at first, stumbling clumsily off his tongue. His face was burning, and his stance felt wooden, comet clutched to his side. “I know how to turn.” There, that was much clearer; his voice seemed to swell and burst from him, despite how tight his throat felt. 

“I - I didn’t say you didn’t, I just - you know what, whatever.” Keith shoved his hand back in his pocket, turning and stalking off towards the pitch entrance. 

“Lance?” Allura stood by the change room door, a crease between her brows. “Are you coming?”

He nodded, hurrying to duck inside to hide his mortification from Shiro, who was watching him with a look of deep confusion. He just needed to get through this match, get this whole thing over with, and then he could drown himself in the lake and never again have his idols watch him have to get pitying flying tips from his ( _ far more talented _ ) competitors. He began pulling off his scarf and hoodie with numb hands, yanking his Quidditch robes over his head and trying not to see Keith’s face, moments after victory, the glint of the Snitch so very far away, when he closed his eyes.  

“How are you feeling?” Lance glanced up from tying his shoelaces, meeting Allura’s piercing gaze with an unsteady smile. 

“I’ve been worse,” he said, shrugging and turning back to his shoes. He’d re-tied the laces three times, but the knots still felt too loose. “Like when I crashed into the field instead of catching the snitch. I feel better than I did then.”

Slim brown fingers wrapped around his hand, pulling it away from his shoes and placing it at his side. Allura sighed, a sound so soft he wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t been crouching right in front of him. “Lance.” When he didn’t look at her, she let out another of those barely-there sighs. “Lance, listen to me.  _ You did not fail us _ . It was a mistake, Lance. It was your first season as seeker. Keith has been practicing with Shiro since they were kids.” His throat tightened at Keith’s name. “You did not fail us, and you will not fail us now. Understand?”

Lance nodded, slow and without looking at his captain, and Allura straightened up and walked away to retrieve her broom. Lance held his own in a vice-like grip, holding his breath as long as he could before letting out a long exhale. He couldn’t fail them now. He couldn’t afford to freeze up like this so early in the season. 

Getting to his feet and taking another deep breath, Lance forced himself to march over to the door of the change rooms, adamantly ignoring his own racing heart. He couldn’t fail them, so he wouldn’t. It was as simple as that. 

Allura’s pep talk didn’t quite reach him through the roar of his pulse, but Lance could see the sparkling in her eyes, the look that reminded him just who was leading him in this game. He was marching into the pitch behind Allura Altea; the only foreseeable path for them was victory when she smiled like that, as if they had already won.

 

✦

 

“You didn’t say anything too rude, did you?” 

Keith shot a withering glare towards his brother as they took their seats, right at the front of the Hufflepuff stands. A Gryffindor scarf hung loose around Shiro’s neck, the scarlet vivid against the greying November air. 

“No,” he replied sullenly, turning back to look out at the pitch; the Slytherin team was already walking out, the shifting green of their robes against the grass looking like an optical illusion. “I just - I told him how to turn better. I was giving him advice!”

Shiro sighed, quiet and brimming with exasperation. “Your idea of being nice to him was to tell him how to fly?”

“Oh shit, dude, he’s not gonna be happy about that.”

Keith turned to glare at Hunk, who was seated on Shiro’s other side. He was sporting scarlet as well - perhaps he’d borrowed Lance’s scarf like Shiro had borrowed Allura’s - but had also slipped an emerald green beanie on over his windblown dark hair. 

“Why wouldn’t he be happy about it?” Keith demanded, suddenly aware of how childish his voice sounded. “I gave him flying tips right before a match. What if they help him win?!”

Hunk glanced at Shiro, eyebrows raised. “You haven’t . . . you know? Explained?”

“Explained what?” Keith asked. 

Shiro, looking right over Keith at Hunk, shook his head. “Not completely, no.”

“Okay then, guess I’ll . . . do that. I guess.” Hunk paused, brow furrowed in thought, before looking back at Keith. “Lance is . . . well he kind of . . . wow, this is awkward, no wonder you didn’t explain it.” 

“Explain what?!” Keith exclaimed. 

“Lance is like . . . really not that confident in his flying? And he just - I mean, he thinks you’re amazing at it, so he kind of, I don’t know, sees you as like a kind of goal? Like a rival. You’re his main target to beat - if he can hold his own against you, then he can kind of prove to himself that he’s good enough to be on the team?” 

Keith stared at Hunk for a very long moment of silence, his eyebrows slowly knitting themselves together in growing bafflement. “That’s absolutely fucking ridiculous.”

“Well!” Hunk waved his hands hopelessly, sighing. “I mean you did kick his ass last year! Like you literally sent him sprawled onto his ass, like on the field? He fell -”

“I remember, Hunk.”

“Right. Yeah. So, I mean, he’s just - he’s nervous. You make him nervous. Quidditch means a lot to him, and you’re - well you’re  _ you _ . He wants to beat you, to prove he can do the stuff he spends so much time practicing and worrying over. If someone who practices a lot less - no offense, dude -”

“None taken.”

“- yeah, if someone who spends a fraction of the time practicing can just waltz on over and absolutely crush him, then what’s the point? I guess that’s what he’s thinking, anyway.” Hunk trailed off, frowning. “So yeah, telling him he doesn’t fly as well as you do right before a match? It’s not gonna sound like a friendly tip to him.”

“But that’s not my fault! I didn’t tell him that to be a dick, I just - agh!” Keith turned his gaze back to Shiro. “Stop telling me to be nice to people if it’s gonna be this hard!”

Shiro just shrugged and turned back to face the pitch, pulling Allura’s scarf closer around himself. The wind had begun to pick up, the first inklings of an approaching storm dancing across the pitch. It ruffled Keith’s hair, and played with the fluttering ends of Hunk’s borrowed scarf. Far, far below the stands, seven scarlet-clad figures were striding across the half-dead grass. Keith could pick out Lance, even from this distance, walking just behind Allura’s billowing mane of white hair. 

“I guess we’ll see if your tip helped after all,” Shiro said, not taking his eyes off the pitch. Keith chewed harshly on his lower lip as the two teams lined themselves up accordingly, Kolivan standing between the two captains. The whistle blasted through the wind, and all fourteen players shot into the air. 

Keith didn’t take his eyes off Lance’s zooming figure the entire match, focused on the way Lance looped through the air in his over the top way, arcing over and under Slytherin players purely to annoy them. 

Every one of his turns was fantastic. 

 

✦

 

Lance was in high spirits that night. The whole of Gryffindor house was, if the cacophony of their victory party was anything to go by. Excited chatter, the stomp of dancing feet, and the heady rhythm of music all mingled together in the Gryffindor common room, spilling out into the hallway for a split second each time the portrait door swung open and then closed. 

It was that noise that hit Keith like a brick wall when the Fat Lady swung forwards to reveal the wild celebration to him and Shiro. He moved back instinctively, shoving his hands a little farther into his jacket pockets with a slight frown. Beside him, Shiro sighed and put an arm around his shoulders. 

“It’ll be fun,” he said with an encouraging smile. “Come on, Hunk’s waiting.” 

They stepped inside, the portrait swinging shut and closing them inside the common room. The noise enveloped them, as did the strong scents of butterbeer, popcorn, and what might have been smoke. 

“Shiro, please tell me they don’t set firecrackers off  _ indoors _ at these parties,” Keith said, glancing up at his brother.

Shiro shrugged, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “Not always.”

“Oh my god.”

“Relax, Keith, you’ll be fine.”

“I’m trying to!” Keith snapped, and moved to stand a little closer to the wall, and a little farther from the commotion in the room. He was, in fact, trying to relax. Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t mind parties. He didn’t mind butterbeer and talking and music and laughter and Having Fun. What he minded was feeling unwelcome, and that was the distinct feeling he had gotten from a particular Gryffindor seeker who was undoubtedly celebrating somewhere in that common room.

And there he was. Keith could see him just over the heads of a group of dancing Gryffindors and Ravenclaws: Lance Mcclain himself stood among a small crowd of Gryffindor students, speaking with dramatic gusto and gesturing wildly in the air, a half-empty butterbeer clutched in his hand. 

“There’s Hunk, why don’t we go see him?” Shiro suggested, and without further ado began to steer Keith away from his wall of refuge and towards the center of the room - that is, towards Lance and his audience. 

“It was just pure adrenaline, you know?” Keith heard him say to a pair of Gryffindor second-years, both gazing up at him, absolutely enraptured. “Like suddenly we’re only ten points ahead, and Lotor’s cackling away because he thinks he can embarrass us with a surprise victory, and then it’s there! It’s right there, fluttering right next to his head. And I just went for it!” 

“I thought you were gonna crash right into him,” Hunk remarked from his spot on the couch with a teasing grin. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hunk, I have more control over my broom than that. That’s what it’s all about, you know? Control. Like, you really have to feel where your broom is going, at all times. Being able to feel that is half the battle of learning to play Quidditch, or fly at all. It’s all . . .” Lance trailed off as he glanced over to the trio of Hufflepuffs by the couch, and his eyes slowly settled on Keith and his deepened frown. 

“It’s all about feeling.” Lance’s mouth had become a tight line as he stared at Keith; Keith forced himself to take a deep breath, and then another, his skin prickling under Lance’s unreadable gaze. 

“So . . . yeah, I didn’t crash into him,” Lance continued, turning back to the second-years. “Of course I didn’t. I know what I’m doing.” His eyes flickered to Keith for a split second, before returning to his captive audience. “Anyway, so I’m headed right for the space right next to Lotor’s head, and I reach out and I swear the tips of my fingers  _ just  _ brush the Snitch -” Lance mimes his desperate grab for victory, spilling a bit of butterbeer onto the carpet, “- and it darts away, you know, and Lotor ducks down and he’s so disoriented and stupidly unfocused that I just dove straight down before he even knew what was happening.”

“I thought you were gonna die on the field,” Hunk said, looking at Lance reproachfully. “You’re so reckless out there sometimes, man.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Lance shot back with a wide grin, his eyes moving to Keith for barely a fraction of a second before going back to his best friend. “Which is why I got it! I caught it, before Lotor even knew what was happening!” 

“It was  _ so _ cool!” One of the second-years exclaimed, smiling up at Lance. “Seriously, I wish I could dive like that! I wanted to try out for the team this year, but I can barely do basic turns, nevermind stuff like that.” 

Lance shrugged, giving the young girl a sympathetic smile. “I feel you, Marnie. You just gotta practice, ‘kay? That’s all there is to it. Everybody who’s gotten good at anything just had to practice.” 

“What about Keith?” asked another onlooker. Keith could practically feel Lance’s gaze snap to him, despite keeping his eyes on the Ravenclaw pointing at him. “He’s been a star player since, like, second-year.” 

“Well, I mean -” Lance said, a dark flush creeping up his cheeks. “Keith Kogane isn’t 'most people', is he?” 

Keith looked back at Lance then, and their eyes locked. For just a moment, it felt as though the entire room had narrowed to just the two of them, and Keith could hear his pulse beating rapidly in his ears. 

“Everyone’s different! Practice is still important,” Keith could hear Shiro saying to the second-year, but it was muffled and distant as though through a wall of thick glass. 

“Yeah,” Keith said weakly, giving a shrug to the crowd that had turned its full attention to him in the span of thirty seconds. “Different stuff. Everyone’s different.”

“Anyway,” Shiro began, glancing from Keith’s nervousness to Lance’s piercing stare and back again. “I’d like to make a toast!” 

After getting as many people in the common room to pay attention to him as possible - successfully turning their eyes away from Keith - and finding his own butterbeer, Shiro stood atop an armchair and raised his drink in the air. “From one Quidditch captain to another -” he nodded to Allura, who grinned right back at him, “- you played well today. I personally can’t wait to play your team in a few months!” 

“Who says you’ll beat us first?!” called an indignant Ravenclaw.

“Okay, we’ll try our best to play Gryffindor in a few months,” Shiro amended with a laugh. In a stage whisper, he added, “We’ll see you in a few months, Allura.” Allura just rolled her eyes. 

“And we’ll kick your ass in a few months,” she shot back. 

“Looking forward to it,” Shiro replied. “Anyway, for tonight Gryffindor are the victors. So, from the bottom of my heart: congratulations, Gryffindor!” The common room exploded into choruses of “congrats, Gryffindor!”; Lance was beaming at Shiro, who smiled back at him as he stepped off the chair. 

“I knew you’d do great during the first match,” Shiro said, giving him a quick one-armed hug. 

It looked as though Lance might short-circuit from the praise, his smile the brightest thing in the common room. “I was worried, but wow! We actually won!”

Keith, who had begun to shrink back into the crowd to avoid the laser-like focus of Lance’s gaze, felt Shiro’s free hand clamp onto his elbow before he could properly slip away. He shot a glare at his brother, who just smiled benignly. “Keith thought you did great, Lance.” 

Lance’s smile dimmed somewhat as he shifted his eyes to Keith’s, and there was that tunnel-vision again. The whole room narrowed to just Lance’s piercing brown eyes and the downward curve of his mouth as he stared Keith down. The six feet between them felt like the endless stretch of a battleground. 

“Uh, yeah.” Keith cleared his throat, his eyes darting from Lance’s face to the floor to the wall to Shiro to Lance again, a desperate need for social reprieve. “You were - you were really good.” He settled on a stain on the couch next to Hunk’s shoulder, training his vision there, his shoulders hunching practically of their own accord. The closeness of the room, the noise of the people, was becoming too much. 

Shiro was watching him with concern now, noticing the way Keith had curled in on himself just a little too much to be normal. He tossed another bright smile at Lance and Shay, who had come to tackle Lance with one of her airtight celebratory hugs. “We should get going, actually - real early practice session tomorrow morning.”

“Already preparing for us?” Shay asked with a laugh.

“You bet.” Shiro turned to Keith. “You good to go?”

“Yeah.” Keith risked looking back at Lance, who had Shay’s arms wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides like an anaconda; Lance looked as though he’d long given up on escaping. He met Keith’s gaze with a fond smile still softening his features, and for a moment Keith felt his every limb go rigid. Then it passed and Lance was frowning again and Keith could move, jitters climbing their way up and down his body. 

As he turned to leave with Shiro, Keith took a sharp breath to steady himself before calling over his shoulder, “Your turns were great!”

Without waiting to witness Lance’s reaction, inexplicably furious or otherwise, Keith bolted from the Gryffindor common room, shutting out the ruckus of celebration as the portrait door closed behind him. Shiro stood facing him, and even in the dimness of the sconce-lit hallway, Keith couldn’t miss the knowing grin on his brother’s face.

“Shiro, don’t.” He was already striding away, back down to the kitchens and the safety of the Hufflepuff common room, where he could focus on his unfortunate Potions essay, and try to forget the gentle upward curve of Lance’s eyes as he smiled, or the bright, clear sound of his overly exuberant laughter. 

 

✦

 

The high of the Gryffindor victory in that first week of November began to fade after the Hufflepuff v. Ravenclaw match only two weeks later. 

Lance, who had been wearing the pride of their win like armour, felt that shield begin to crumble away from him as the match unfolded before them. He and Hunk were up in the stands, his best friend decked out - much like everyone around them - in vibrant yellow. Lance himself had been roped into wearing Hunk’s house scarf, something that he was sincerely regretting agreeing to as he watched the Hufflepuff seeker dart around the pitch, flying with such grace and precision that Lance felt sick imagining going up against him in a few months. 

It only took twenty six minutes for Keith to catch the snitch, holding it up to rapturous cheers from all around Lance. He felt the last of his victory fall away from where it had been guarding his heart, which gave a sudden lurch as his former confidence dissolved. The gray November air felt far too heavy in his lungs; the bright yellow scarf felt too tight around his throat. 

“Congrats, man,” he managed to say, forcing a smile for Hunk, who was beaming down at the pitch below them. The teams were dismounting, Shiro scooping Keith up in a hug and the seeker trying to wriggle out of it. Despite knowing the distance prevented it, Lance swore he could see the golden glimmer of the snitch in Keith’s hand. 

“So at least we’ll all be going on to the finals -” Hunk froze, turning to look at his best friend. “Oh no.” 

“Yeah.” Lance’s voice was tight, rising up in his throat with great difficulty. His stomach was beginning to turn, thinking about that future, inevitable match. “We’re all moving forward. We get to play Hufflepuff again.” 

“You okay?”

Lance couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Keith, who was now jogging back to the change rooms, the Hufflepuff team trailing after him with yells of delight. “I’m fine. And I’m gonna be fine during that match, too.” 

  
✦  


 

Hunk prided himself on being the kind of best friend who remembered a number of invaluable facts about his friends. He had a small mental list of Important Facts concerning the people he cared about, and Lance’s list looked a little something like this:

  1. He got homesickness more than he would like to admit, which he tried to solve by secretly reading letters from his family when he thought no one would notice.
  2. He had nearly been killed by the Whomping Willow on six separate occasions, three of which had involved Pidge and a challenge against his flying.
  3. He had a crush on Allura in second year and, after an incident with poorly-prepared Felix Felicis and a bucket of live dung beetles, he had refused to speak about it since. 
  4. He had been wildly insecure about his flying since his first quidditch tryouts in third year, where he saw Keith Kogane fly for the first time. 



That last fact was what had made Hunk so worried about Lance with the new quidditch season coming up. Lance turning up to breakfast in a tired daze for the third time that week was just the tipping point Hunk needed to finally act. Operation: Help Lance With Quidditch Stress was a go.

Sidling up to Shiro in the Hufflepuff common room was step one. 

“Hey, Hunk - are those muffins?” 

“They sure are,” Hunk said, sliding the plate across the coffee table, careful not to mess up the elaborate arrangement of Shiro’s notes and textbooks. “Straight from the kitchens - I think they’re strawberry-rhubarb.” 

“Oh my God, you’re a saint.” Shiro had a muffin unwrapped and split apart to reveal all its cinnamon-y, fruity glory, when he stopped and glanced back up at Hunk. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing!” Hunk said quickly. “Nothing terrible, anyway . . . well, I mean it’s pretty bad, but it’s, like, terrible but in a manageable way?”

“Hunk?”

“Lance is just . . . I’m worried about him.”

Shiro frowned. “Oh. Yeah, he’s seemed a bit . . .”

“Stressed. Terrified. Miserable.” 

“. . . yeah, pretty much.”

“It’s the Quidditch. I mean, you’ve met him, you know how he is . . . but it’s really bad right now, he’s so wrapped up in practicing and perfecting everything for this match against Ravenclaw . . . I just thought, maybe, if you gave him some advice? Or maybe even practiced with him once or twice? I thought it might help destress him a bit, made him a bit more confident.” 

“Practice with him?” Shiro spoke with the glint of a blooming idea in his eyes, and thoughtfully chewed his muffin as Hunk replied. 

“Yeah, I mean I figured there aren’t any real seekers on the Gryffindor team for him to practice with, so . . .”

“Hunk you wonderful genius.”

“. . . somehow, I feel like I’ll regret giving you this idea.” 

“Only if it backfires terribly.”

Hunk groaned at Shiro’s growing, excited grin, flopping back against the couch. “Why can’t I have less stressful friends?” 

 

✦

 

Leading up to the winter break, Lance seemed to eat, sleep and breathe Quidditch. Practice with the team was three times a week, Allura drilling them until even the second-years were moving like they had been on the team for years. Forgoing studying for OWLs - much to Hunk’s frustration - Lance studied quidditch strategies instead, reading and rereading Allura’s notes until he could recite them in his sleep. He was going to be ready for this match.

This was something he had mentioned to Keith on more than one occasion - or at least, he had said it very, very loudly while in the other seeker’s vicinity. Hunk had been getting lots of facepalm practice lately, given how frequently Lance was trying to drop hints to his housemate concerning the state of his seeking skills -

“-which he’s never actually mocked, you know,” Hunk pointed out one afternoon, while glaring at Lance over the top of his Potions textbook. “Outside of, like, the first incident. He’s just - he’s not good at giving gentle constructive criticism.” 

“Ugh, yeah right,” Lance said, ignoring Hunk to focus his gaze on Keith, who was sitting at a nearby table, scribbling on a long roll of parchment. He kept throwing unreadable glances their way, while Shiro chuckled quietly beside him.

“He’s thinking it, Hunk,” Lance continued; his essay on Felix Felicis lay before him, half-finished. “I can tell.”

“No, he isn’t,” Hunk hissed, and cringed; in the chilling hush of the library, every word sounded like a small explosion. “Now stop glaring at him, it’s rude.”

“Whatever.” Lance turned back to his essay, picking up his quill and immediately letting out a quiet groan before dropping the quill again. 

“You need help?” Hunk whispered, stifling a laugh.  

“I need a miracle,” Lance replied, running a hand through his hair. “I believe that’s where you and your beautiful brain come in.” 

One hour, several explanations of the use of powdered common rue in both extraordinary and ordinary potions, and a lengthy whispered debate over whether someone being poisoned would get everyone out of the potions OWL later, and students began filing out of the library, which was closing for the night. Lance and Hunk followed suit, trudging into the hallway. 

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Hunk said, stifling a yawn. At Lance’s quizzical look, he continued, “Double Defense with Kolivan?”

“Oh hell yes!” Lance grinned; Defense Against the Dark Arts was already a fun class, but adding the kind of rough-around-the-edges badass teacher that was Kolivan made it the most entertaining two hours of Lance’s day. 

“Just get some sleep! No strategizing with Allura past twelve!” Hunk called as he walked backward down the corridor. 

“No prob!” Lance yelled back, ignoring the frowns he received from a couple of passing teachers. “No strategizing with Allura! Got it!” 

At 12:15, Lance wrapped his quilt around himself, enjoying the warmth of the Gryffindor common room’s fireplace, and pulled out a worn copy of  _ Snatching the Snitch: 212 Ways To Improve As a Seeker.  _

_ I won’t be with Allura anyway,  _ he thought, flipping the book open to a chapter titled ‘Observing Snitch Movement Patterns’, and let himself sink deeper into the soft armchair as he read. Just the one chapter should be enough for one night, he thought, although perhaps he could skim ‘Maintaining Good Focus’ . . . 

A sharp knock startled Lance out of a doze he hadn’t been aware he’d slipped into. He jolted in his seat, eyes roaming wildly over every inch of the common room, searching for the source of the noise: the crackling fireplace, the empty staircases leading to the boys and girls dormitories, the face peering in through the common room window, a pet cat napping on the hearth -

“What the hell!” Lance exclaimed, tumbling out of the armchair and onto the floor in his haste to move as far away from the window as possible. 

The face, now that he was looking closely at it, was a very familiar one, with high cheekbones and unruly dark hair spilling all around it. A hand came into view of the dim firelight, and beckoned him forward.

It was Keith Kogane.

Lance leapt to his feet, reaching out to right the armchair that had shifted in his fall, violently shoving down the pang of startling embarrassment that seemed to be becoming a hallmark of his interactions with Keith. 

 

Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? It seemed as though Keith had been popping up everywhere he turned, and Lance's brain seemed determined to shift his focus right to him: sitting quietly with Shiro at the Hufflepuff table at dinner, studying Charms in the library. Lance's senses were drawn, as though bewitched, to minute details that refused to leave his mind, from the red of Keith's fuzzy lion socks on Lance's last visit to the Hufflepuff common room to see Hunk, to the soft rasp in his apology to a first-year girl he'd bumped into outside their shared Potions class. And now Lance was imagining him outside the window of Gryffindor Tower in the dead of night, because his feelings for Keith didn't need to get more confusing as it was.  

Keith tapped gently on the window with his knuckles, looking expectantly at Lance. When Lance simply continued to stare at him, baffled and now fairly convinced it was not a dream, Keith rolled his eyes and lifted his hand, miming pulling the window open. 

“Open it?” Lance hissed, over-enunciating his words so as to make his lips readable to the insane Hufflepuff seeker hovering outside Gryffindor tower in the dead of night. “Why?”

Keith just mimed the action again. Lance swiped a hand over his face, the late hour and the complete bizarreness of the situation seeming to hold him in place. Did Keith want to come into the common room? If he did, why didn’t he just come to the door like a normal person? Why did he want inside in the first place? Was he determined to invade Lance’s every living moment from now on, existing as a constant reminder of his own shortcomings? 

“Why?” he whispered again. 

Behind the glass, Keith stared at him for a long moment, another of those deep frowns settling over his face. Then he pointed at Lance, pointed at himself, and zig-zagged his hand through the air. This, however, must have upset his balance outside, because he tipped sideways for a long, precarious moment that had Lance speeding to the window: the top of Gryffindor Tower wouldn’t be a fantastic height to fall from, even if you were the greatest seeker in Hogwarts history. 

Lance unhooked the lock and swung the window open as carefully as he dared, not wanting to make too much noise with everyone fast asleep upstairs. Outside, in the biting wintery air, Keith had recovered his balance and was sitting astride his broom with a small smile. 

“Jesus, you could’ve fallen over a hundred feet, you lunatic!” Lance hissed, scowling at Keith’s soft laugh of response. “That isn’t funny! I don’t want to watch someone die, that would suck!”

“I wouldn’t die, Lance, I’m on a broom. But it’s good to know it’s me you were so worried about, and not being traumatized yourself.” 

“Oh, whatever.” Lance shivered as a gust of wind swept through the window and brushed over the thin fabric of his pyjamas. He crossed his arms, trying not to shiver too obviously, as he scowled at Keith. “Can I ask what the fuck you’re doing here in the middle of the night?” 

Keith hitched his broom up a few inches, making himself at eye-level with Lance, though he wasn’t looking him in the eye. “I was thinking we could go practice.” 

“Practice?” Lance, taken by surprise and thoroughly unprepared for such a response, could only gawk at Keith. “Like, flying? Practice flying?”

“Yes . . .?” Keith was frowning again, but it was a far softer frown than the ones Lance usually observed: much less judgement, and far more nervousness. “What else would we be practicing?”

“You flew up to Gryffindor Tower in the middle of the night to knock on the common room window, hoping I’d be here, and ask me to practice Quidditch with you?” 

“I mean, I did look into your dorm window first,” Keith said. “But yeah, I guess, pretty much.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s less than an hour till sunrise, it’s the best time to get on the pitch, there’s no one there.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You - I mean, you don’t have to. I can always just go practice by myself.”

“Right.”

“. . . Then, cool, I’ll go practice by myself.”

“Why would you do that? I thought you were inviting me!”

“I was, but you just said -”

“I didn’t say no, did I?”

“I guess not? You did kind of imply it though -”

“Just shut up and let me get my broom.”

“Oh - uh, okay. Cool.”

“Cool.” Lance looked down at Keith’s sweatshirt and jeans, then at the alarming redness of his hands, clutched rigidly around his broomhandle. “And some gloves.”

“Gloves would be great.”

“Great.”  

Ten cautious minutes later, having crept his way through his dorm room and back down to the common room without waking a single student, Lance returned to the open window, where Keith was still hovering. He was staring out at the grounds, his gaze contemplative, as the barest hint of impending dawn cupped its grey hands around the sky. 

“Here,” Lance said, holding a spare pair of gloves and a hat for Keith to take, snapping him out of his quiet reverie. Keith nodded, not looking directly at him, and slipped the gloves on, slowly stretching his fingers out as the first moment of warmth enveloped them. The hat followed, scrunching down over the curls of his hair. 

“Thanks. I kind of forgot to dress for the weather.” 

“You don’t say?” Lance smiled, opening the window as far as it would go, and swinging his leg over his broom. “So, I guess I’ll just, you know, push off from here?” 

“Maybe get closer to the window.” 

Lance did. He also took the opportunity to peer out over the edge of the window frame, down, down, down, into the steep drop to the ground. “Huh.” He forced out a quick laugh, trying to shake his nerves out of his body. “If I fell from here, I’d drop right into greenhouse three. Hope there’s nothing poisonous in there at the moment.”

“You’re not gonna fall,” Keith said, easing his broom a few feet to the right of the window. “I’ve seen you on a broom, Lance, and you’re not gonna fall.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Plus we’ve been doing Cushioning Charms in class all week, so -”

“Oh, very funny,” Lance snapped, settling his weight more comfortably over his broom and tightening his grip on the handle. “Cracking jokes when I might meet a tragically young demise because you wanted to practice at four am!”

And with that, Lance kicked off from the carpeted floor of the common room, jetting through the window frame, a shock of cold air blasting across his face.

“Holy shit!” Lance whooped, butterflies exploding in his stomach from the rush of weightlessness that came with flying - then he clapped a hand over his mouth, remembering the open window and the early hour. 

“God you’re really out to wake the whole castle, huh?” 

“Shut up.” Lance turned to face the Quidditch pitch, and urged his broom to begin drifting in its direction. Keith followed suit a few feet behind him; he was still smiling, though Lance couldn’t see his face. 

“So,” Lance said, now actively avoiding looking at Keith. There was something about the early-morning quiet that made the situation feel deeply, unsettlingly intimate. “Can I ask, uh, why exactly you wanted to practice with me?”

“Oh.” Keith sped up a little, coming to fly just to Lance’s left. “I, uh, I thought it could be useful? I mean Ravenclaw’s been practicing like crazy, and they destroyed Slytherin last week.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why we’re practicing constantly.” Lance had witnessed Slytherin’s defeat alright, patting Pidge’s shoulder and trying not to panic the whole second half of the match. He knew his competition. He knew how to train accordingly. 

“I know,” Keith placated. “But, no offense to Allura, you’re practicing with a Chaser who’s read a lot about Seeking techniques. It’s more useful to practice with another Seeker, someone who knows the techniques.”

“Must’ve been helpful to practice with Shiro then,” Lance said, bitterness creeping into his tone as he looked out over the pitch. “You were trained by one of the best Seekers in Hogwarts’ history.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Keith zipped forward on his broom, stopping to hover in front of Lance, forcing him to meet his eyes. “And that’s how I know the best way to deal with an impending match like this one.”

“And what is this secret trick, O Wise One?” Lance scoffed. 

“You just need to fly.” Keith did a quick arc around Lance, the wind buffeted his hair every which way. “You just need to fly for a while, and not think about training. You need to just focus on how it feels to fly.”

“Is that so?” Lance did a quick drop in the air, swerving around to face Keith, cutting him off before he could soar further away. “Just fly? That’s gonna help me beat Ravenclaw?”

“No,” Keith said, frowning. The genuine concern in his face caught Lance enough off-guard to pause, let Keith do a slow, gentle loop around him. “But neither is running yourself into the ground, and from the sounds of it that’s exactly what you’re doing.” 

Lance let out a groan, lowering himself to rest his forehead on the handle of his broomstick. “Did Hunk put you up to this?”

“No.” There was a beat of silence, thick with hesitance. “He asked Shiro. I said I’d do it instead.”

Lance whipped his head up, looking around every which way to find where Keith had flown to; he caught his eye over his shoulder. Keith was just hovering there, watching him. His face was so soft in the dawn light, the only marring of his features the small crease of worry between his eyebrows. 

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I want you to give it your all when we play, Lance. And you can’t do that if you hurt yourself preparing for Ravenclaw.” 

“What, don’t waste my energy on them? Save it for when I face you?” 

“Yeah.” 

Lance wasn’t expecting Keith to agree with his teasing; he also wasn’t expecting to feel a small thrill at his agreement.  _ Don’t bother with Ravenclaw _ , Keith’s expression seemed to say as he inched his broom over to Lance.  _ I’m the only opposition that matters. Pay attention to  _ me. 

“Race you to the goalposts!” Lance’s cry bubbled up from the back of his throat, burst forth like the golden sunrise in the distance. 

“Which ones?” Keith was already angling his broom for the pitch. 

“East.”

“You’re on.”

They soared into the rising sunlight, marking everything in its path as it spread across the school grounds, turning Keith and Lance both to golden-bathed streaks in the air. 

 

✦

 

The match was going . . . well, it hadn’t been going spectacularly. In fact, Hunk had had a hard time looking for the past little while; he had been distracting himself from the disastrous game by playing with a pack of self-shuffling cards Pidge had lent him some time after Ravenclaw’s fifth goal. Pidge herself was glaring daggers at the Ravenclaw side of the stadium, her brother looking torn between elation and sympathy next to her, and Shiro’s face was growing more crestfallen every time a Gryffindor player was checked or dropped the Quaffle or experienced one of the many accidents that had been plaguing their team the whole game thus far.

Keith, wedged between the anxious Hunk and the distraught Shiro, watched on in abject horror as one of the Gryffindor chasers collided with the goalpost, dropping the Quaffle in the process. 

“Oh, Cosmo, no,” Hunk moaned, peering out from between his fingers, cringing. “No, don’t just let them - oh, no.” 

A Ravenclaw chaser had snatched the Quaffle out of the air, and zoomed off to the Gryffindor goalposts, leaving the dazed second-year to right his scarlet robes before taking off after them. 

But Cosmo and Allura, who had also gone in frantic pursuit of the chaser in blue, were too late: the clanging bell which signalled a goal echoed across the pitch, and suddenly Ravenclaw were beating Gryffindor seventy to two. 

“Christ,” Shiro muttered. Hunk sighed, and Matt tried to keep his excitement as inconspicuous as possible. 

But Keith couldn’t keep his eyes off a particular figure in scarlet, whose sparrow-like movements he could’ve recognized from a hundred miles away. Lance had been circling the pitch endlessly for the past several minutes, narrowly dodging stray Bludgers and keeping altogether out of everyone’s way; there was something in the rigid line of his body, curled around his broom, that spoke volumes about his stressed state of mind. He had seen enough of Lance's practices to notice when something was off in his form; he had been seeing enough of Lance in general - studying during classes, causing havoc in the halls, constructing waffle-based monstrosities with Pidge at breakfast - to notice when something was off with him. 

It was because Keith had hardly dared to look away from Lance’s path around the pitch that he was the first to notice his slight plunge; he dropped ten feet in the span of seconds, stopping to hover, his spine an arrow pointed straight for the grass below, frozen in place. Then he exploded into movement, the red of his robes a splash of colour against the gray air of the morning as he rocketed downward. The Ravenclaw seeker was there just as quickly, a cobalt streak that blocked Keith’s view of Lance, both of them soaring, then rushing, tumbling, frantically scrabbling for the next foot of space towards the ground - 

“ _ Lance _ .” Keith felt his chest tighten, panic clutching his ribs as he strained against the railing of the stands, looking down at the floor of the pitch. Way, way, way down below. Two splatters of colour on the muddy ground, blue and red. 

“Oh shit!” Pidge was craning over the railing, looking like a stiff breeze might just send her tumbling to the ground, too; Matt dug a hand into the back of her jacket, any excitement wiped clean from his face. 

“Oh no, oh no, oh no, not again -” Hunk wasn’t looking, but then he was looking, and then wasn’t again, clapping a hand over his eyes. 

“He’s okay,” Shiro said, patting Hunk’s shoulder. “He’s fine, see, Coran’s already down there making sure, he’s standing up . . . oh.” Keith had looked to his brother just in time to see his face fall, staring down at the gathering assembly of players and teachers on the ground. 

“Ravenclaw . . . wins?” Ezor’s baffled voice echoed across the entire pitch, sending ripples of confusion through the crowds of students. “Okay . . . okay, yeah. Ravenclaw wins! I guess?!” 

“Look.” Shiro was pointing down to the Ravenclaw seeker, who was standing next to Coran, clenched fist held up to the sky. There was no need to get a closer look; they all knew that silent symbol, no explanation required, no confirmation of the glittering wings that struggled between his fingers. He had the Snitch. The game was over. 

Ravenclaw had won by sixty points. 

Keith was still watching Lance, who was now on his feet, broom in hand and talking to Coran. The Ravenclaw team had already descended upon their seeker, whooping and dancing; the Gryffindor players were still scattered about the pitch, most still in the air, as though unsure what had just happened. As someone who had seen so many of their practices, Keith was wondering much of the same thing. 

_ It wasn’t supposed to go like this _ , he thought, brow crinkled in confusion. 

“We should . . . I’ll go see Allura, make sure she’s alright,” Shiro said, looking equally troubled as he looked at his younger brother. “She’ll want to stay with her team for a bit, I’m sure . . . Hunk?”

“Let me guess: head to the kitchens? Already on it my dude. I just wanna check with Lance before I go.” Hunk was striding purposefully to the stairs, Pidge and Matt on his heels as they bickered about Matt removing his Ravenclaw scarf in the Gryffindor team’s presence. They vanished into the moving crowd. Shiro and Keith waited a few minutes to follow suit; in Shiro’s own words, they needed to give the Gryffindor team some time to collect themselves. Then they were climbing back down to the ground, veering not towards the castle, but the showers on the edge of the pitch.  

Stopping outside the door, Shiro turned to Keith for a moment, frowning. “Maybe just - give him a moment.” Keith nodded, moved to lean against the wall outside the door to wait, understanding but frustrated by this delay. 

Twenty minutes of waiting later, after the very last students had trickled out of the stands and began the trek back to the castle, and Allura and several other Gryffindors came spilling out the showers, movements weighed down by defeat. Allura’s eyes had a tightness about them, as though she was either trying not to cry, or trying not to scream. 

“Hey, Keith,” Shay said, giving him a small wave; he replied in kind, unsure of what he could say to comfort her so soon after a loss that bad. 

“You’re playing Ravenclaw in a few weeks then, right?” He nodded, uncertain of where she was taking that thought. “Cool, congrats. I want you to crush them.” 

“Will do,” Keith promised, and Shay gave him a friendly salute before linking arms with Cosmo and marching the despairing second-year back up to whatever get together Shiro was apparently having Hunk arrange - a Sorry For Your Loss Party? 

“Hey, Keith?” He looked up at Allura, who nodded meaningfully at the changing room door. “Make sure he doesn’t try to drown himself in the shower?” 

“Got it.” 

She nodded again, and Shiro gave his brother a small, encouraging smile. “Good luck.” 

Keith nodded, watching as they turned and marched back up to the school; he saw Allura carefully shift her broom to her left hand, offering her right to Shiro; he twined them together as they walked. 

Keith leaned his head back against the cool brick of the wall, uncertain about his next steps. He wanted badly to go inside and see Lance, make sure he was okay, make sure he wasn’t wallowing as he seemed so prone to do; but what could he say once he’d gotten that reassurance? He didn’t want to just march in there to reassure himself, unable to help Lance - how selfish would that be? No, if he was going to talk to Lance, he was going to have something to say. 

Around ten minutes later, the cold numbing his fingertips, a speech of sympathy and reassurance constructed eloquently in his head, Keith nudged open the door. The daylight spilling into the change room through the many high, iron bracketed windows illuminated the steam drifting through the air, wafting, warm and heavy, into Keith’s face. It was coming from the showers, around the corner. 

“Lance?” he called, a sudden feeling of wrongness gripping him; who was he to follow Lance into the change room, intrude on his private self-pitying session? 

“Keith?” Lance’s voice issued from around the corner. The splash of running water nearly drowned out his response - it seemed too soft-spoken for Keith to possibly think Lance was remotely okay. 

“Hey, are you - like, are you - decent?” Keith stumbled his way through the question, ready to bolt back outside at the answer. 

“ . . . yeah?” There was a soft coughing sort of laugh that cut through the water and flickered against Keith’s heart like a candle flame. “Yeah, I’m  _ decent _ .” 

“Okay.” Keith began his tentative turn around the corner to the showers, archaic, old-fashioned pipes tracing his route above his head, leading him right to the scarlet-clad figure slumped against the smooth stone wall, warm water raining down from the tap several feet to his right. 

“Lance?” Keith started towards him, his initial relief over the other boy being fully clothed quickly morphing to confusion and concern. “Are you okay?”

Lance looked up at Keith through the soaked strands of his hair, his eyes bloodshot. “I messed up.”

Keith took a few slow steps closer to him, careful not to move too fast or too close, before realizing how ridiculous he was being, treating Lance like some trembling woodland creature. He took a deep breath, exhaled, moved swiftly through the clouds of steam to shut off the water, and took a seat cross-legged in front of Lance. 

“What’s wrong, Lance?” His entire soliloquy, with all of its sage advice and consolement, had evaporated the moment Keith had looked into Lance’s eyes, red and brimming with shocked distress. 

“I lost us the game.” Lance moved to curl closer in on himself, but winced, a hand clapped to a spot beneath his ribcage. “I crashed.”  _ Again _ . But Keith did not add that reminder; he didn’t have to, given how heavily it hung in the air with the remaining steam. 

“To be fair, so did the Ravenclaw seeker,” Keith replied, gaze focused on the spot Lance was holding so tenderly. “What’s wrong with your side? And don’t -” he continued as Lance dropped his hand and opened his mouth with a frown “- be the idiot who hides when they’re hurt.” 

Lance sighed, and stretched out enough to peel away the wet fabric of the scarlet shirt under his outer robes, revealing a pinkish blotch on his golden brown skin. Keith frowned, leaning in to take a closer look, and prodded it carefully; Lance winced again and moved away, scowling. “Ugh, don’t touch it.” 

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” Keith tried for reassurance, but didn’t really know what would indicate a break beneath Lance’s skin or not; he felt the words come out of him more like a prayer than a declaration. 

“Yeah, probably not.” Lance sighed, tilted his head back against the wall. He blew out another long breath, and wiped the beads of water from his face with the back of his gloved hand, rough and furious. “I’m such an idiot.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“I’m an idiot, having a pity party in the showers bad enough that  _ Keith Kogane  _ wants to stop brooding and make me feel better.”

“You’re not an idiot. And if you stop pitying yourself for something that isn’t your fault, then maybe it wouldn’t be a pity party.”

“But it  _ is  _ my fault.” Keith could’ve strangled him for how stubborn he was being. “You saw it - everyone did. I lost the Snitch, and that lost us the game.”

“Bullshit.” 

“Huh?” Lance looked to Keith, brows furrowed. “How is that bullshit if it’s true?”

“It’s bullshit because it isn’t true, you idiot.”

“I thought I wasn’t an idiot -”

“You’re an idiot for thinking that you’re an idiot for this. There was nothing stupid about what you did out there - you did one of the best dives I’ve seen from you, and you did the most anyone could to try and win the game for your team.” 

“One of my best dives? Christ,” Lance barked a bitter laugh. “That’s fucking tragic.” 

“You have to stop that.” Keith was watching Lance so intently, it was as if the entire world had narrowed to just the two of them. “You have to stop torturing yourself with this stuff - it doesn’t get you anywhere, Lance. You have to be fair to yourself.”

“Christ, that’s easy for you to say, isn’t it?! The greatest Quidditch player the school’s seen in decades, better than Shiro even - what do you know about messing up on the pitch?! You’ve never fucked up half as bad as I have! You’ve never screwed your whole team over like this, you’re the one who wins, like last year -” Lance went silent, his mouth clamped shut, his eyes frantic. 

Keith took a long minute to speak. When he managed to string together a coherent sentence, he forced himself to stare Lance square in the eye while he said it. “Is that why you hate me? Because I won a match against you once?” 

Lance flushed; Keith pretended not to notice, let him use the fading steam as a cover. “It’s not just that you won the match.”

“So what is it?” 

There was a heavy sense of defeat draped over Lance’s curled figure as he looked away; it seemed to weigh his shoulders down, a familiar weight he accepted to bear. He had closed his eyes, as though focusing all his strength on the words he was struggling to force out. “It - I just . . . I was so - embarrassed, last year . . . ugh, shit, I don’t know how to - I think I’m explaining it wrong.” 

“So try again.” Keith leaned against the wall, settling in for the wait. He could feel his heartbeat in the hollow of his throat. The steam had dissipated, and he shivered in the cold dampness of the room. 

Lance sucked in a deep breath, eyes still closed. It took a tense minute, but he managed to keep talking. “It’s just always - it’s been easy for you. You’re a natural, you’re the best and you kinda just  _ do it _ , like, no problem guys, Keith here can fly circles around everybody else without even trying. You’ve always been that good - tryouts anywhere near you felt like a joke, like the rest of us were stupid kids or something next to what you could do . . . I just - I couldn’t - and then! And then you’re so nonchalant about it, and you don’t even  _ look  _ at the rest of us, like we’re not even worth your time! You just get on the pitch, and destroy us, and walk off again like it was no big deal! And that fucking - it sucked, a lot. It always has.” 

The words left a sharpness in Keith’s chest, air splintering in his lungs. He held his breath, let it out slowly, carefully. Lance was not finished. 

“So then, after like two years of  _ that _ , I train like crazy in the summer, and Allura spends months and months planning and training and worrying about  _ you  _ \- she worked so hard to get us ready for that match, seriously - and we get there, as ready as we’ll ever be . . . and you crush us. You absolutely  _ obliterate  _ us. And I’m the idiot who fell out of the fucking sky, and lost us the game, and the last year of practice was all for nothing, and you just - you just move on like it doesn’t matter! What the fuck is that?!” 

Keith didn’t know; he couldn’t seem to work his mouth properly. He started trying to move his tongue, bring life back into it so he could say  _ anything _ . Lance had worked himself into near-fury, his hands sweeping and pointing and accusing; his eyes were open, and Keith was pinned in place by the burning in them.

“And now even  _ Ravenclaw  _ is able to kick our asses, so I guess we really do suck, but we’ve spent the last year doing all that training and planning and everything all over again, and now we don’t even get to use it and - and - why are you looking at me like that?!” 

“Because you’re talking like you’re not one of the best players in the school right now, and that’s - I mean, that’s ridiculous.” 

“How is that ridiculous?!”

“Because it’s not true!”

“Sure it is - I’ve been beaten by nearly every person in Hogwarts Quidditch at this point -”

“ _ Your team  _ has been beaten, not you - there’s a difference.”

“Don’t try to pity-comfort me -”

“I’m not, Lance! You are talented! And capable! I’ve seen it!” Keith spat the words, wishing that wasn’t how they sounded aloud for the first time. He had wanted them to blossom, to be good and reassuring and kind when he finally worked up the nerve to say them; but if Lance needed them shouted, then that’s what he would do. 

“Oh yeah?! What, out there, just now, getting my ass handed to me by -”

“At practice! At your practices you’re incredible, Lance! Your turning and dives and all of it - you’re amazing at your practices!”

“How would you know what I’m like at practice?!”

“Because I’ve seen them!” 

The moment the words flew out of Keith, he wanted to catch them, clap them between his hands like frenzied flies, before they could reach Lance. Unfortunately, he did not have that luxury. 

“You’ve . . . why were you at our practices?” Lance’s bewilderment had wiped the mounting anger clean off his face, leaving behind a scrunched-up expression. 

“I . . .” Keith was now looking anywhere but Lance, eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. “I just . . . I mean, Shiro . . .”

“Shiro . . .? What, dragged you to Gryffindor practices to spy on us?” 

“Not spy! We didn’t - it wasn’t spying, I swear, we just -” Keith cut himself off, swallowing against the dryness of his throat. “I -  _ I  _ wanted to watch you fly. Actually. That’s it.” 

If Keith had been hoping this explanation would clarify anything, he had been sorely mistaken: Lance looked more confused than ever, watching him through narrowed eyes. There was suspicion gleaming in those eyes, and it made Keith feel hot and uncomfortable. He was painfully aware of his hands fidgeting, but didn’t feel in complete control of them anymore. 

“You wanted to watch me fly.” Lance’s voice had turned distant, unbelieving. Keith fidgeted some more. “Why would you want to do that?” 

“You know . . . I mean, it - you . . .” Keith could feel a flush creeping up his neck, and wanted more than anything to just hide. But then, he had been doing that for weeks, hadn’t he? And it had been miserable. 

“I just - I wanted to see you fly because you’re really good at it, Lance. Because you’re - when you’re up there, during practice, with no one really watching you, or cheering for you, you’re - it’s like when you’re hanging out with Hunk, or Pidge, or Allura, you’re just - you look so happy. And it’s just - I like seeing you, when you’re like that, okay? It’s just nice or whatever.” 

Thick silence settled over the room then, suffocating. Keith was staring at the floor, focusing on the feeling of dampness soaking through his jeans to avoid the feeling of absolute helplessness that was brimming dangerously in his chest. He was at Lance’s mercy now. 

“I didn’t know you . . . I thought you hated me?”

Keith’s heart gave a sharp squeeze at the words. “Of course I didn’t hate you, Lance, that’s . . . that’s ridiculous. I thought you didn’t like me, so I just . . . didn’t want to bother you much. I’ve never  _ hated  _ you.” Even the suggestion made Keith feel sick; some awful instinct had kicked in, and he found himself scouring his brain for every moment between him and Lance, analyzing them for any of his misplaced words, his failed attempts at advice or awkward body language. Lance was simply staring at him, his face stunned. 

“Not exactly like that, I just mean - I thought you thought I was . . . lesser. Or stupid or wasting everyone’s time by staying on the team.” Lance’s voice was so small; Keith could have held it in his palm, cradled it safely between his hands. “That’s just . . . that’s what I thought.”  

“I’m not sure how to put this nicely, but Lance . . . that is such bullshit.”

A strained laugh burst its way out of Lance at that, and he flushed deeply afterward. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why am I here, hiding in the showers because I fell off my fucking broom again?” 

“Because you’re blaming yourself, which is stupid.” 

“I’m being stupid?”

“No! Well, I mean, technically, yes . . . but not, like, in a bad way.”

“I’m being stupid in a good way?”

“Y’know what, I might hate you after all.”

“Ha! I knew it.” 

The rasping, faltering sound of their laughter wound its way around them, dancing with the streams of fading sunlight. Lance, careful not to make too much noise, shifted himself closer to Keith; Keith noticed, and said nothing. He only moved his hand a few tentative inches, to rest over Lance’s. Neither of them moved for a very long moment. Keith’s last breath was still tight in his lungs; the only part of him he could feel were his fingers, warmed by the gentle contact with Lance’s hand. 

A heavy knock at the door, echoing throughout the showers, made them both jump, hands shooting back to their respective owners. Pieces of the shattered atmosphere seemed to clatter around them as Keith and Lance both stared at the entrance to the showers, unable to see the door from their spot. 

The mystery of the knocker resolved itself seconds later, when Shiro’s voice came issuing through the room. “Guys? You still in here?”

“Lance!” Allura’s voice was a clap of thunder compared to Shiro’s, not a trace of hesitance to be found in it. “I swear, if you’ve managed to drown yourself, and Keith hasn’t stopped you, I will  _ not  _ be pleased . . .” 

“I’m fine!” Lance squeaked, and Keith bit his lip to try and (unsuccessfully) hide his grin. Lance elbowed him in the side, face indignant, which only made Keith have to stifle another laugh. 

He clambered to his feet, offering Lance a hand. Looking up at him, Lance’s eyes gleamed in the sunlight; Keith’s heart gave a particularly strong thud in his chest, and his grin widened. “Come on, before Allura starts threatening you.”

“Right.” 

Lance reached up to clasp Keith’s hand, letting himself be hauled to his feet. He hadn’t looked away from Keith’s face, and for another moment didn’t let go of Keith’s hand. Keith missed the weight of it when he did. 

 

✦

 

The weather was perfect: warm sun shining overhead, emerald grass rippling in the soft breeze. May had arrived to Hogwarts, and was treating the Quidditch teams very, very nicely indeed.

That was what Lance was reminding himself of as he and the Gryffindor team strode onto the Pitch. Allura’s pep talk had been exceptionally high-spirited that morning, spoken over her third cup of coffee with a half-courageous, half-mad gleam in her eye. Shiro had given her an understanding pat on the shoulder, after she had him swear on his life not let her team win. 

They would beat Hufflepuff all on their own, thank you very much. 

The Gryffindors came to a stop a few feet from the Hufflepuff team, as a hush settled over the pitch. The stands were divided into two seas of scarlet and butter-yellow; Lance knew Hunk was somewhere up there, sporting both. (He also knew Pidge was decked out in red, if only to spite Shiro for confiscating her stash of Wet-Start Fireworks.) 

Allura and Shiro stepped closer together, shook hands; Allura was smiling as if they had already won. Shiro, knowing Allura as he did, looked reasonably nervous at this. 

Keith and Lance locked eyes from their spots, already straddling their brooms. Lance winked, ignoring the clamminess in his hands as he clutched his cleansweep. Keith smirked, reaching up to tie back his hair. Lance hoped it wasn’t obvious how cute he knew Keith looked in his house’s colours. 

And then Kolivan was blowing his whistle, and everyone shot into the air like cannonfire. 

In the stands, Hunk, Pidge and Matt were screaming themselves hoarse all together. When Allura scored the first goal of the match, Hunk could see Lance’s celebratory loop, far above the pitch. He wasn’t bothering to cover his eyes during this match. He had been to the Gryffindor practices; he had heard Allura’s speech at breakfast. He knew how this was going to end, paranoia be damned.

Lance and Keith had been circling each other for much of the game, watching the other’s movements carefully. The practices they had been putting in together had made them accustomed to each other’s flying, their small idiosyncrasies and tells. Keith could see Lance’s turns coming from a mile away; Lance knew Keith’s feinting strategy inside and out. 

So when Keith swung into a sudden dive, spiralling towards the ground, and Lance saw the slight shifting of his weight halfway to the ground - the clear tell that Keith was about to turn right back up into the sky - Lance did not follow suit. Instead, he circled around the pitch again, waiting to hover where Keith would inevitably be zooming back up to -

He felt something flutter next to, and then clip, his left ear. 

Lance swung around, arm outstretched, to see the Snitch dart just a few feet out of his reach, before flickering down towards the ground. It was diving; so Lance found himself diving as well. His heart climbed into his throat as he dropped twenty, forty, sixty feet, the expanse of jewel-green grass rushing up to meet him. He passed Keith, who was coming out of his feint. He glanced to the scarlet streak that was Lance, and past him, to the golden glimmer heading straight down. 

They were two blurs, mere swipes of colour in the air, so fast they seemed barely tangible. Keith had caught up, and they were shoulder-to-shoulder; Lance could hear Keith’s breathing. His stomach was a vaccuumous pit as they hurtled down, everything about this feeling familiar in the worst ways:  _ I’m going to crash I’m going to crash I’m going to crash I’m going to  _ \- 

And Lance lurched out of his dive, curving through the air in a wild arc, spiralling his broom to the grass in a way that felt less immediately dangerous but far less controllable. 

Keith had kept diving, and pulled out at the very last millisecond with his usual casual elegance. Lance’s broom had levelled out barely ten feet above the ground, and he was gathering his bearings when the Snitch fluttered past his cheek, clipping him  _ a second time _ . He lunged out, broom whipping around in response to his movement, and arced several feet forward with his arms out, reaching and straining for that luminous glimmer - 

And then he toppled to the ground, broom tangled in his legs. 

For a moment, Lance was thrown back in time: he was on his back, staring up at a stormier sky, his shoulder burning from a crash, hands utterly empty at his sides. He choked, a terrified sob building in his throat; he tightened his fists, fighting off the sudden despair.  

And something was struggling against his right palm. 

It scratched and wriggled, desperate to free itself, and the sky was turning azure again, and he was simply blinking away dizziness. And as Lance freed his legs from his broom and sat himself up, he opened the smallest crack in his closed fist to peer inside.

A golden shimmer winked back at him. 

Keith had landed nearby and was rushing over, his voice sharp with worry. “Lance? Are you okay?” 

Lance just looked up and held up his fist; Keith froze, his face going blank, then astonished. Lance clambered to his feet, unsteady and awkward. He did not feel like someone who had just caught a Snitch. 

“Hold - hold your hand up,” Keith said; Lance did. He raised it as far above his head as he could, waved his arm for emphasis. His body felt like it was moving in slow motion. Had he hit his head? Was this a dream of some kind? It had to be. 

“He - he has it!” Keith was pointing at him now, calling across the field. “Lance caught the Snitch! He just caught it!” 

Players were slowly coming to a halt all over the pitch; Kolivan was striding over. He gestured to Lance, who held out his clenched fist; he slowly pried it open, feeling more and more dreamlike by the second. The Snitch had finally settled, gleaming in his open palm like the world’s strangest pearl. 

Kolivan nodded once, then blew his whistle. Ezor’s voice, echoing throughout the stadium, was bursting with glee as she declared, “Gryffindor wins! Oh my God -” 

And then Allura had materialised out of the sky to tackle Lance to the ground in a somewhat lethal hug. “You did it! Lance,” Allura was saying, and he could see a few tears gleaming on her brown cheeks as she spoke, “Lance, you actually did it, we won, you won, you got it, we won -”

“Lance!” And then Shay was there, crushing them both, and Cosmo appeared behind her, and the rest of the Gryffindor team was piling on, and Lance had never been so happy to be nearly suffocated to death as he was in that moment. Every second that ticked away from that initial moment he spent sprawled on the ground flooded his body with warmth, the unfamiliar but intoxicating flush of victory. He wiped some of his own tears away as Allura helped him escape the dogpile of Gryffindor players, and he was laughing and smiling and so was she, and he felt the sun shining on them both. 

Half an hour later, as Lance reassured Hunk and Allura that he would be upstairs for the victory celebration soon, he really just needed to take care of something first, he tried to avoid Shiro’s knowing smile. 

He was relieved to only spot that familiar lithe figure walking up to the castle after everyone had filtered out of the Entrance Hall. He took a few steps away from the doors, uncertainty clouding his thoughts and faltering his movements: was it creepy to lurk so close to the doors? Should he wait somewhere else? Go outside to meet him? Just try to see him later at the party, or even tomorrow at breakfast, or during Potions, or in two years at graduation . . .? 

This decision was wrenched from his hands when Keith stepped inside the Entrance Hall and stilled, eyes locked with Lance’s, who was frozen mid-pace. 

“Hi.” Lance’s voice echoed in the cavernous space, and he winced. 

“. . . hi.” Keith had his broom slung over his shoulder, and was in plain muggle jeans and a t shirt. Lance wanted the image burned into his retinas forever. 

“You - you were really good out there.” Keith was smiling at him, small and proud. “You figured out my feinting tells.” 

“Yeah, a little while ago.” Lance was rocking on his heels, swallowing down his uncertainty and forcing himself to rip off this bandaid before he could deliberate it any longer. “Did you let me win?”   

“What?” Keith frowned, stepped a bit closer to Lance; the room felt too big to stand so far apart, their words travelling too far. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, but, like - did you?”

“No.” Keith had come to stand close enough that he could see Lance’s freckles. Lance, in turn, could have tripped right into the deep blue of Keith’s eyes; he would have let it swallow him whole. 

“Good.” 

And when he stepped forward and kissed Keith Kogane, and Keith Kogane was so startled that he dropped his broom, Lance couldn’t help but break the kiss to laugh. And when Keith rolled his eyes and kissed Lance Mcclain, he wasn’t sure how much of himself was actually surprised. It felt too right for surprise. This moment of fading adrenaline, windswept hair tangled in Lance’s fingers, and the high of different kinds of victory in their veins - it felt natural. It felt like something Lance would like to practice. It felt like flying.  

“I’m coming for the Cup next year, you know.”

“You can try, Lance.” 

“. . . I will.” 

“Good.” 


End file.
